When I caught Julian with his mistress, after his car was rear-ended, he just leaned out the window and smiled at the paparazzi. “Got a scandal on your hands? Make sure you find my wife. She *loves* dealing with this kind of news.” Whenever my name, Mrs. Thorne, came up, everyone in the social circle would say the same thing, almost in unison: “She was a nobody who snagged a rich husband. She’d never dare to leave.” No one remembered that when Julian married me, he’d graciously introduced me, almost as if he was doing them a favor: “This is my wife. She’s young, so please be patient with her.” Everyone assumed I’d throw money at the paparazzi, just like I always did. They thought I’d smooth over the gossip, and keep up the facade of a loving power couple with Julian. But this time, I simply walked into Grandfather Thorne’s study. “It’s been three years. You should let me go.” There’s an unwritten rule among Hong Kong’s tabloids. If a entertainment reporter’s monthly performance isn’t up to par, they just need to stake out Julian Thorne, CEO of Concord Group. He cycles through a new lover every month, flaunting them openly, making it effortless to snap a picture. Men will be men, a little scandal is normal. But his wife, she has to maintain appearances, uphold her reputation. If you capture his latest affair, just take the evidence to her and name your price. She’ll pay for it all. However, old habits sometimes meet new circumstances. When a rookie paparazzo from the Daily Scoop brought a video to Julian, only to be sent to me, I had just arrived home from the office. My villa sat atop Victoria Peak, offering a panoramic view of the entire Victoria Harbour skyline. The voice on my phone continued, unskilled yet surprisingly shrewd, asking for an outrageous amount. “Mrs. Thorne, it’s just two million. That’s like, what you pay for a handbag, right? Just two million to buy off your husband’s scandal. Such a bargain! If you’ve decided, just call this number…” This paparazzo wasn’t very bright. His first time tailing Julian, and the second time he was brazen enough to knock on Julian’s car window. Julian’s cars were hard to identify; he changed them frequently, with hundreds in his garage. Yet, for those few days, he kept driving the same one. In the video the paparazzo sent me, Julian lowered his window. In the passenger seat sat a woman dressed provocatively. Last month, when I received photos, that seat was occupied by a rising starlet from mainland China. Julian took off his sunglasses, revealing an almost flawless face to the camera. He crooked a finger at the paparazzo. As the man approached, Julian’s voice was languid, coaxing him gently, “Newbie? So clueless. After you take the pictures, you go to my wife. I won’t give you a dime.” “Don’t have my wife’s contact information?” He pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled a few numbers, and casually tossed it into the paparazzo’s arms. Then, he glanced at the woman beside him and clicked his tongue, “Get out.” She leaned in, whining, “Mr. Thorne, didn’t you say three days? It’s only been a few hours…” Julian tossed a card at her, then pressed the unlock button. “You got caught in just a few hours. Get out, or do you want me to physically kick you out? Scram.” I turned off the video, my face calm, and sat at the dining table. The maid had meticulously laid out dinner, dish after dish. The clock in the grand hall chimed eight times.
I looked up at the clock, a gift Julian had brought me from France seven years ago, now swaying listlessly, looking worn. I applied to Hong Kong University at seventeen and met Julian when I was eighteen. Back then, he was understated, except for his perfectly sculpted face. He knew everything, but he’d pretend to be clumsy, saying he’d forgotten it all and needed me to teach him. After just half a month, people who knew him whispered to me, “You think he’s just a pretty face? He’s the heir to Concord Group, and his dad’s running for office.” Later, Julian left campus. He wouldn’t listen to reason, driving back and forth between Hong Kong University and Central every day. For those few years, we argued occasionally, but loved each other constantly. My heart would close, then open, then close again. At twenty-five, after countless obstacles, I married Julian. That wedding for the ages is still documented in old newspapers. One small tabloid, desperate for attention, ran a headline that overshadowed all the major papers. It was sensational, but completely disrespectful. Julian saw the paper the morning after our wedding. After reading it, he silently placed his water glass on top of the paper. I later learned that sensational paper turned out to be the last one that tabloid ever published. Looking back, piece by piece, I realized how deeply Julian and I had once been in love. But how did it all come to this, like that old clock, its swing utterly lifeless? In the quiet of the grand hall, the elevator’s digital display flickered, stopping at the third floor just as the doors slid open. Julian emerged, his suit jacket casually draped over his arm. Even the harsh overhead light in the elevator couldn’t diminish the sharp angles of his face. I glanced at him, then looked away, refocusing on the dishes before me. A minute later, I heard the soft thud of his jacket being tossed onto the sofa. Immediately, a hint of oud and the warmth of his body enveloped me. Julian stood behind me, hands braced on the table, as if he was about to pull me into an embrace. His voice was nonchalant, “Good evening, Mrs. Thorne. Let’s see, how much is this latest news worth?” My phone lay on the table. He tapped a few times, navigating to my messages. “Two million? Journalists’ appetites these days are smaller than your dinner bill. Anyone would think my net worth has depreciated.” I put down my forks, sitting up straight, maintaining a half-fist’s distance from his chest. Instead of answering, I changed the subject. “I won’t approve Anastasia’s direct placement as Head of Public Relations. Her application will be rejected.” Sure enough, at the mention of that name, Julian straightened up, the encompassing presence instantly vanishing. He sat opposite me, hands resting on the back of his chair, his gaze drifting to the beautiful night outside the window. “Her matters don’t concern you.” “Or perhaps…” Julian’s gaze shifted back, propping his chin, he looked at me, “You just don’t like her?” I looked straight into his eyes, searching for something, but found nothing. Outsiders only saw that Julian’s parade of lovers never stopped these past two years. No one knew he was actually using them as a smokescreen for Anastasia. Two years ago, Julian sent her abroad for a ‘gold-plating’ education, intending for her to be directly placed in the company upon her return. It wasn’t that I disliked her; I was simply being practical. Concord Group’s hiring criteria are incredibly strict. A candidate’s primary degree must be from a QS Top 30 university, otherwise, they’re not even considered. Anastasia only has a high school diploma. She worked at a department store at eighteen. The ‘gold-plating’ school was a diploma mill. There’s no way to justify her hiring, even if we were trying to make an exception for talent. My voice was faint. “I’m speaking about company business, not personal feelings.” Julian didn’t reply. After a moment, I heard a voice message from his phone. A voice, syrupy sweet and undeniably seductive: “Mr. Thorne, my little undies are still in your car. When would be a good time for me to pick them up?” The phone’s speaker seemed intentionally loud, the words echoed mockingly in my ears. Julian looked at me, raising the phone to his lips, his voice lazy, “Wrong number, miss.” I gazed at his indifferent expression, trying to recall how he used to love me.
In the beginning, Julian would still confess and apologize. The gift he sent Anastasia was incredibly valuable, and it inadvertently took the spot I’d originally reserved. The circle of the wealthy is too small; a single clue can unravel a massive scandal. Julian rushed home, handing over all his phone, bank cards, and a dozen other account passwords. “She helped me with a small favor. Alex picked out the gift. I’ll give him hell for it later.” He only offered a brief explanation, and I believed him. There was no reason not to. But that day, Anastasia, somehow learning about the big fight Julian and I had, appeared. On a rainy day, she knelt dramatically at the villa’s entrance: “Mrs. Thorne, there’s truly nothing between Mr. Thorne and me. You must believe us.” It was so clearly an attempt to cover up something, it just screamed ‘guilty!’ Anger burned away all rationality, so I didn’t see the flicker of pity in Julian’s eyes as he looked down from the floor-to-ceiling window that day. A man feeling pity for a woman might be the start of a romance for two, but for three, it’s a dangerous game. But none of that truly mattered; the hardest days were long behind me. If I remembered correctly, today was November 27th, leaving only a few days until my three-year term with Grandfather Thorne expired. I looked at Julian, about to speak. He suddenly received a call. The voice from the other end faintly leaked out. It was Anastasia’s voice: “The electricity in my house is out. It’s pitch black, and I’m a little scared.” “Wait there, I’m coming.” Julian stood up, glanced at me, and I swallowed the words on my tongue. Since I didn’t speak, he walked out without a backward glance. After Julian left, I drove to the Thorne family’s old estate. The Thorne estate was a sprawling compound of century-old mansions. Inside, the decor was a blend of East and West, a mix of antique and modern. Upon entering, Julian’s mother, Vivian, was sitting on the sofa, a maid massaging her shoulders. Hearing my arrival, she turned, glanced at me, then closed her eyes again. I didn’t bother her, going straight upstairs to the study. “Grandfather…” I considered my words carefully. “Three years have passed. I want to leave the Thorne family.” I knew then that Julian had outwardly sent Anastasia away, but in reality, he was sending her abroad to study. When I found out he was still flying back and forth between Hong Kong and Australia while I was hospitalized, I completely gave up hope. It was then that I sought out Grandfather Thorne, just as the Thorne family was facing internal turmoil. He asked me to stay for three more years, promising that if Julian remained incorrigible, he would personally arrange for me to leave the family. The armchair creaked softly. Grandfather Thorne opened his eyes, looking at me, and asked, “I thought three years would make you accustomed to things. Why do you still want to leave?” Seeing my silence, he sighed. “When you first wanted to marry into the Thorne family, you should have anticipated this. Look at Vivian. When she was young, she was even fiercer than you. Yet, in the end, didn’t she hold onto the title of Mrs. Thorne? All those illegitimate children couldn’t stir up a ripple, and the son she bore, Julian, is still the sole heir to the Thorne family.” Vivian was Julian’s mother, this woman, who now leads a life of quiet devotion, had an extraordinary force of personality in her youth. “Do you know what she relied on?” “What?” “She relied on my endorsement. As long as I say so, no one can steal your position as Mrs. Thorne. With my backing, those other women won’t threaten you.” “Besides, I’m not talking to you about feelings; I’m talking about a transaction. You’ve performed exceptionally well these past few years, both in the company and for the Thorne family. You’ve held everything together. It would take time and effort for us to cultivate another person like you. You can calculate whether leaving the Thorne family is worth it.” If we were to talk strictly about transactions and not feelings, this was undoubtedly the most advantageous deal. I poured him some tea and said softly, “You know, if it wasn’t about feelings, I wouldn’t even be here right now.” I had considered it too, holding firmly onto the title of legitimate wife, no matter how hard outsiders tried, they couldn’t enter the Thorne family’s doors. But I didn’t marry Julian to become Mrs. Thorne; I became Mrs. Thorne because I married Julian. Back then, I pushed him away, telling him his marriage wasn’t free, yet he still had the nerve to date me. Julian frowned, “What do you mean my marriage isn’t free? I have plenty of ways to marry you. You can’t go a day without seeing me, and you’re already talking about marrying someone else? Do you think I’m a good-for-nothing?” I didn’t believe him. What ‘ways’ could possibly bypass so many obstacles? Later, he didn’t bring it up again. He just gradually took over Concord Group, slowly integrating himself into the heart of the Thorne family. After graduation, I also successfully joined Concord Group, starting as an intern. Back then, I trained during the day, and Julian coached me personally at night, allowing me to grow incredibly fast. By the time we brought up marriage again, he was firmly established in the Thorne family, and no one dared to utter a word of dissent. He respected Grandfather Thorne, however, and the next day, he came up with a scheme to make the Old Master see reason. “You little rascal, did you really think I was old and senile, out of my mind?” Grandfather Thorne scoffed. “You dragged some pretty boy with slicked-back hair from an entertainment company, holding hands, ready to register their marriage. Did he think I’d be scared? I just turned a blind eye. I indulged you, and still you’re not satisfied.” “Now, after only a few years, you’re making a fuss about divorce again.” “Let me be clear. Once you leave the Thorne family, I won’t let you return. Think it over carefully before you decide.” I bowed my head, replaying the fleeting seven years of my marriage in my mind. “Leaving the Thorne family is something I’ve waited three years for.” He waved his hand. “Finish up your current affairs. Someone will contact you then.” When I came downstairs, Julian’s mother was still sitting on the sofa. I walked to the door, then turned back. “In the future, I won’t be able to offer you my well wishes. I hope you remain in good health.” After saying this, I turned and walked out. The living room of the Thorne estate was dimly lit. Vivian, shrouded in the dim light, looked straight ahead. All the light in the room seemed to be carried away by the figure walking swiftly out. As she watched, it was as if she saw a younger Vivian, walking out. Aunt Lee bent down and whispered in her ear, “Madam, it’s late. It’s time for bed.” The living room fell dim again. Vivian retracted her gaze. “Let’s go.” **TO BE CONTINUED…**
As I got into the car, I remembered I had to deal with my current affairs. I immediately arranged for the paparazzo to collect a check the next morning, buying off all of Julian’s gossip from today. The next time I received a message from Julian was a few days later. After Anastasia returned, he had reined himself in considerably. Remembering my deal with Grandfather Thorne, I told my driver to make a detour to pick Julian up. The door was open when we arrived. Inside, a group of people were playing cards, and Anastasia was among them. She had just won a big hand. The man opposite her flattered, “Ms. Anastasia, you’re on a roll tonight! You’re dominating the table; I’m about to lose my shirt. Have a heart, spare us!” Anastasia smiled, about to speak. Julian looked up and saw me at the doorway. He took a drag from his cigarette and scoffed, “The one standing at the door is your actual Mrs. Thorne. Are you blind, calling random women by her title? No wonder you can’t win a hand all night.” The man saw me and stood up in a panic. “M-Mrs. Thorne…” Anastasia, seeing me, paled. At this scene, I knew Julian was doing it on purpose. He always did this – deliberately made me watch, doing everything he could to force me into a divorce and make way, yet he’d stubbornly refuse to actually divorce me. His reason was simple enough: “She’s young and naive. I can keep her around for fun, but who would seriously marry her? One Mrs. Thorne is enough, and that’s you.” I surveyed the people in the room, left my driver behind, instructing him to pick up Julian later. Then I nodded politely and turned to leave. I had just reached the door when Anastasia blocked my path. The girl who was eighteen two years ago was now barely twenty, still fresh-faced and vibrant. She was slightly breathless, her voice a delicate whisper, “Mrs. Thorne, I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t mean to break up your family. I tried to leave, I tried to forget, but I couldn’t.” “I can’t forget Mr. Thorne. I love him very much, but please believe me, deep down, I really didn’t intend to destroy your family.” “Mr. Thorne and I… we just met too late. If he had met me back then, I would have been Mrs. Thorne…” “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Anyway, I genuinely want to apologize to you. If there’s a next life, I’ll be your servant to atone.” “But in this life, I can’t give Mr. Thorne back to you. I’m sorry.” I looked her up and down. Two years ago, she could only afford clothes costing a few tens of dollars. Now, she was covered head to toe in understated luxury, a pair of shoes on her feet worth three years of her department store salary. There are many sparrows. I used to be one; now it’s Anastasia. I didn’t speak, and I wouldn’t stoop to speaking with her. I wouldn’t try to appeal to morality or conscience to awaken a mistress. If she knew how to spell ‘morals,’ she wouldn’t be so thrilled to be a mistress. “You should divorce Mr. Thorne!” Her voice called out behind me, “Release him!” Inside, the people exchanged glances. Someone dared to look at Julian, whose face was icy. “Julian, aren’t you going after Mrs. Thorne? When women get angry, they might actually file for divorce!” Julian looked at the image of the two-million-dollar check, lost in thought. After a moment, he chuckled, “Wouldn’t divorce be great? Free as a bird.”
Julian Thorne was the last in the family to find out about my divorce. When he heard the news, he raised an eyebrow at the person who delivered it. “What kind of joke is that?” Scarlett exaggerated, “What joke? Grandfather Thorne already agreed to it! Besides, you’ve been turning the house upside down these past two years, wasn’t it all just to get a divorce?” “If you ask me,” she leaned in conspiratorially, perched on the table, “if it’s over, it’s over. Men always end up despising a nagging wife.” She then added, “Kitty’s still waiting for you, you know? She hasn’t married all these years. If you divorce, maybe give her a chance?” Scarlett had always had a designated sister-in-law in mind, only for me to appear out of nowhere that year. On Julian’s wedding day, she was fuming with indignation, yet forced herself to smile and hand over a generous red envelope. Poor Kitty, she channeled her sorrow into strength from that day on, rejecting all men and becoming a workaholic. Julian, head aching, told her to get out. Scarlett grabbed her bag and shuffled out. As she exited, she bumped into Anastasia, who, perhaps having overheard their conversation, still had a smile lingering on her lips. Scarlett folded her arms and grinned. “Wow, that’s a wide grin. Like some kind of carnivorous plant. Are you going to eat babies? Delusional! Amelia could divorce eighteen times, and my sister-in-law’s position still wouldn’t be yours.” Anastasia’s expression remained unchanged, her tone gentle. “Then whose would it be? Your Kitty? She seems even more delusional.” Scarlett clapped her hands. “Typical mistress behavior, skin as thick as a fortress wall. You’re not fit to even tie Kitty’s shoelaces.” Anastasia watched her walk away, her gaze distant. Julian sent her abroad to study, bought her a house, and enabled her to live a high society life. And for her, he even fought with me for a divorce. First, it was Amelia; now, it was her. If Amelia could sit in the position of Mrs. Thorne, why couldn’t she? Two years ago, she knelt on Victoria Peak, gazing at the luxurious villa before her. Back then, she thought, one day, the doors of that villa would open for her.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “298788”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic
Leave a Reply